Convergence
by kalina16
Summary: Relationships, as Peter and Gamora find, are never quite like the movies. Or, a series of snapshots as they slowly figure things (and each other) out.


**As I am on vacation right now, updating has been super slow-not to mention my wifi. So the next chapter of Defining Family will be up as soon as I get back! In the meantime, take this sloppily thrown-together oneshot of Peter and Gamora being stupid (I wrote it on my Iphone, so I apologize ahead of time for glaring mistakes).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Peter loves Gamora. Of that much he is certain. But functioning with that love is more difficult than he's previously expected.

They've kissed, of course, and had a successful date, but it's not like they can have dates like that and kiss every day- they still have to function normally, protecting people and working at their title of Guardians.

It's just that he's not sure how to function now that they're a couple.

All his knowledge of lasting relationships comes from the sappy movies he watched with his mother back on Earth in his youth. Those movies were full of chocolate and flowers and perfect, romantic little moments accompanied by disgustingly cute music.

The idea of giving Gamora flowers makes him want to shrivel up and die-which would likely be a better fate than the one he'd receive from her for such an action. Chocolate might work, though-she has expressed interest in his chocolate-chip waffles. Maybe he can make her those and…he doesn't know, bring her breakfast in bed or something?

No, he decides, she probably wouldn't understand-and she wakes up earlier than him anyways.

So he's stuck on playful, over-the-top flirtations and several awkward meetings where their eyes meet in the middle of Nova Prime's debriefing and they both turn a spectacular shade of red (or at least he does-she just turns a slightly darker shade of green).

It's not like it's that awkward all the time, though. Ninety percent of the time they come out of those meetings and start snickering at each other. It's comfortable, they're just not…as close as he's come to expect romantic couples should be. Which leaves him in a slightly awkward position, because as far as he's concerned, it's his job to get that ball rolling.

Well, he can try.

* * *

They decide to attempt another date. According to Drax, he and his wife used to enjoy picnics in stereotypical romantic locations. They both pointedly avoid each other's gaze at the mention of wives, but it's as good an idea as any-it certainly sounds romantic and sappy and relationship-building. So they make plans to have a fricking romantic picnic the next time they refuel at a decent planet. The opportunity comes sooner than they expect as they stop within the next two weeks at a planet infested with beautiful fields and waterfalls and other surreally gorgeous scenery. To be honest, it actually sounds sort of perfect.

But, of course, he's forgetting that he is Peter Quill and she is Gamora, and this isn't the movies.

They really do try, but there's only so much they can do about the rain that rolls in a grand total of two minutes after they've sat down.

They sit there for a minute, staring at each other as the rain soaks their hair and clothes.

"Well," Peter finally says. "This was a stupid idea anyways."

Gamora snorts. "I do not think I could have taken myself seriously."

"On the other hand," Peter says after a moment of silence. "I've also heard that swimming in waterfalls is very romantic." Gamora grins.

"Oh really? In the rain?"

Peter nods. "Rain is especially romantic."

"With our luck we will probably be eaten by carnivorous creatures in the water," she says slowly, but she is smiling. "But I believe the term is 'what the heck'?"

"What the heck," Peter grins. They jump up, making for the nearest waterfall.

It's not romantic, because there is water streaming into their eyes and the roar of the waterfall pounding in their ears, and frankly they're too busy trying to mock-drown each other to appreciate any sense of romance, but it's fun, and they end up shrieking with laughter and nearly coughing up a lung because they swallow so much water.

Peter busts his knee open at some point and they both get horrific, sniffling colds that evening, but all in all they decide it went pretty well. No one shot at them, at any rate.

They high-five between sneezes and Rocket calls them idiots.

* * *

Romantic atmosphere, Gamora finds, is apparently a rare and fragile thing. She sorely regrets pulling a knife on Peter on the terrace back at Knowhere, because she is just now appreciating how perfectly romantic and otherwise nonexistent moments like those were.

It is not like they do not try-they both have an idea of what romance is, this magical, rose-tinted and ungraspable thing-but she has a feeling it is because as Gamora and Peter, they are simply unromantic beings.

They go on a few dates (she does not even want to discuss the first) and ninety percent of those end in explosions; they dance, but most of the time they end up laughing at the other and making up ridiculous dance moves; they kiss and they tell each other-well, they try to tell each other, with a straight face at least-that they love each other-all things that smack of romance and they turn them into insane, laughter-filled escapades.

It is not that it is not fun, it is just not that rose-tinted, magical thing where they stare deeply into each other's eyes and the universe stops that she has been led to believe romance should be.

To be fair, they have had several mentionable moments- Peter reads her poetry, which she enjoys immensely, partly because it is an uncharacteristically vulnerable act on his behalf, and partly because she loves the tone his voice adopts when he reads her the faded words, the poems' rhythm flowing as easily from his lips as his songs do.

So that is romantic, she supposes, but those moments are rare. She loves Peter, she knows that, but there is still a…barrier, of sorts, between them, an awkward, unspoken halting that smacks them whenever they do approach those rare, romantic moments. It is annoying, especially as she has no idea what a relationship really looks like, but besides her…lover, Peter is also her best friend, so at least they can enjoy each other's company, even if it is not romantic.

What gets to her is the vulnerability this relationship puts her in. She finds herself telling Peter things she has never told anyone, be they snatches of her missions under Thanos' rule or mundane, stupid things she finds herself practically prattling on about.

It is not until one night, however, when she wakes screaming from a nightmare, that she truly spills it all to him.

She has nightmares often, has had them all her life. The majority of them revolve around hellish visions of Thanos' torture, the screaming pleas of her victims, and, more recently, the dead bodies of her friends, of Peter cold and still and warm eyes closed forever.

Tonight she dreams of her parents, their sobs and pleas for mercy going unheard as Thanos brutally slaughters them-except in the dream it is not Thanos with their blood on his hands, it is her, slicing through her parents like the monster she is.

She wakes with a harsh scream, drenched in sweat as her chest heaves, the horror and crippling guilt still burning freshly, because she is a monster, she is a monster, she does not deserve to live-

And then Peter is there, his hands sweeping away her sweat-soaked hair, strong arms pulling her close as he holds her to him, and she buries her face in his chest, taking in his scent and the cotton of his t-shirt as he grips her tightly, burying his face in her hair and whispering reassurances that _she's okay, she's okay, they can't hurt her, it wasn't her fault._

It is her fault, though. And she tries to tell him as much, tries to tell him that she belongs in the dark, she is a monster who does not deserve someone so good and so warm and full of light as him, but all that comes out is a strangled sob.

She hides her face in his chest and they sit there, Peter's hand running gently through her hair as he holds her, murmuring calming assurances that she does not entirely hear. He smells like leather and cotton and engine rooms, and the faintest traces of soap, and her breathing slows as the panicked fear seeps out of her, the guilt lessening as she focuses on the steady drumming of his heart.

She tells him about her parents that night-not of their death, but of their life, of her mother's grace and passion, her father's strength and selflessness, of his endless love for them, even until death.

Peter is quiet and attentive, eyes never leaving her as they sit in the cockpit and she tells him of her past in halting, shaky sentences. It is the most vulnerable she can ever remember being.

But Peter does not judge, does not attack her for her weakness. He merely squeezes her hand, and says that her parents sound a lot like her.

She will not admit to the burn in her eyes that comes after that.

* * *

There are scars on Gamora's back-there are scars all over her, cruel, cutting things that speak of years of pain and abuse and experiment. They trouble her little, she tells him, as their sting has long-faded, leaving her all the stronger for it.

They strike Peter all the same. Gamora is beautiful and calm and smooth, and for all her deadly skill and reputation, she is kind and good and deserving. Deserving of good, not of scars and screaming nightmares. Her scars cut him hard, reminding him of what she's seen, what she's been through.

Every time he glimpses the faint lines, his hands catch the raised, jagged skin-he swears to himself that he will not be the cause of another.

Stars knows he's left enough of those in the past-but Gamora is different. Gamora will be different. He will not fail her, because she does not deserve that. And however undeserving he is, however unbelievably lucky to have someone as wonderful as her, he's going to give this everything he has in him.

It is the least he can do.

* * *

They've just finished up a mission on a planet that takes Peter closer to Earth than he's been in years when Rocket suggests shopping.

Well, he doesn't really suggest _shopping for a date_, per say, he just tells them they should look at the "Terran junk they got for sale on this godsforsaken hunk of rock", because, while Terran tech is utterly useless in Rocket's eyes, the food is much less so.

Peter also has a sneaking suspicion Rocket just wants him gone so he can smuggle a hazardous amount of weaponry on the _Milano_, but it's been a while since he's seen goods from earth and going anywhere with Gamora sounds fun anyways, so he lets it slide and he and Gamora make their way to the market.

They bypass the rows of sparkling Terran jewelry and colorful clothes (though Gamora does make him buy more shirts), occasionally stopping to look at the more exotic wares from the outlying planets and try to guess what their functions are. They find a vendor selling Terran food, much to Peter and Gamora's delight, and he makes sure to buy the necessary ingredients for chocolate-chip waffles. It's a bit pricier than he likes, but it's also the most excited he's seen Gamora all day, so it's worth it.

They are just circling the edge of the sprawling market when a row of thick, paper-bound books catches his eye. They are Terran books, he knows immediately, recognizing a few familiar titles, tales from his home. He drags Gamora over to them without hesitation and the two spend the next few minutes flipping through the pages.

"'The Lord of the Rings'." Gamora says, holding up a particular volume. "What an odd title."

"Yeah, well according to Terran critics it's good," Peter says, flipping through the book. "And long. Wow."

"A Ring Lord," Gamora says, looking at the back cover. "Is that your cousin?"

"Haha-hilarious," Peter mutters, sulking slightly."Dang, this thing is massive!"

"Are you certain you can read it all?" Gamora says slyly. "Come to think of it, can you even read at all?"

"Excuse me, I am proficient in reading, writing, and speaking six different languages," Peter says haughtily.

"Six?" Gamora exclaims incredulously. "So you are counting your music and what you call 'bullshit' languages now?"

"No, but I'll have you know bullshit is a very convenient language to know," Peter says. "Six intergalactic languages." He grins at her. "Of course, the one I'm most proficient in is the language of_ loooooove_-"

"Oh good heavens," Gamora snaps, shoving a book in his face and effectively shutting him up. "Wallet out, Star-lord- we are buying this book."

It's pricier than the food, but in the end it turns out to be killer buy because come that evening the whole team is gathered around the common area, listening to Peter read about Frodo and Sam and the Ring of Power like some mismatched, crazy family.

He' d be lying if he said it wasn't enjoyable, though, he thinks as Gamora leans against him, Rocket curled up in his lap and Groot slumped besides him, Drax sitting upright but calmly to Gamora's side.

The book, by some guy with two middle names called Tolkien, is a hit, and it quickly becomes a ritual for the team to curl up every evening and read the enormous story. This, of course, leads to passionate arguments over who would win in a fight, why they couldn't simply use the eagles all the time, and, of course, who was the best character and why.

Gamora supports Eowyn, though she confesses to finding Aragorn a worthy character; Rocket seems torn between Gimli and Legolas, arguing that one's got sense while the other is the only decent shooter of the bunch; Drax prefers Gandalf and, surprisingly, Arwen; Groot, of course, loves the Ents, but overall seems to share Peter's love for the hobbits and, occasionally, Boromir.

They all agree that Sam is a badass, though.

And yes, it is ridiculous, as they prepare for battle and Peter recites Aragorn's speech, and the others actually _cheer_ for it, but hey, it's fun and it brings them together.

The only downside is that Gamora now has an entirely new arsenal of poetry for him to read to her, and half of it is in Elvish. At least one of them is a drinking song.

* * *

Their first fight is over something so utterly trivial Gamora could not have seen it coming if she had tried (which she did-ninety percent of their imagined fights had to do with other women or violent tendencies).

The fight sparks over a book. That thrice-accursed book. After a trying day of arguing with officials and fighting off various idiots, the only thing Gamora wanted to do was curl up in her bed and read-so she feels she is justified for the surge of annoyance she feels when she finds the book missing.

She is perhaps less justified for immediately blaming it on Peter.

And fine, perhaps she has no justification at all for bursting into his room and shouting angrily at him, but it was a very long day.

Peter is wildly confused at first, but he almost instantly begins shouting back indignantly. He accuses her of jumping to conclusions and general idiocy, and she accuses him of thievery and lying and specialized idiocy. It spirals downhill from there. One minute they are yelling about a book and the next they are trading insults like blaster fire, accusations and rebuttals flying across the room viciously. The storm of angry tirades reaches a crest as Peter throws her sister at her, yelling about unnecessary violence and bad decisions and recklessness, no wonder she and her sister tried to kill each other-

He stops mid-yell as a horrified look crosses his face, the realization of what he has said dawning, but Gamora does not notice because there is a red haze in her eyes and a roaring in her ears, and she _bites_.

"Oh _you're_ one to talk, the closest thing you have to family wants you _dead_ because you double cross _everyone_, you're pathetic-you think you can lead us but you're going to get us _all killed _because all you can do is _dance_-"

She slams hard on the breaks as the weight of what just escaped her mouth sinks in and she is horrified, because Peter is standing there looking like she's backhanded him across the face, and the maelstrom of anger is fading as a surge of guilt replaces it, and then-it is all too much.

She spins on her heel and flees the room, scarcely noticing her wide-eyed teammates outside the door as she flies into her own room, slamming the door and collapsing on her bed.

The guilt is swelling now. Peter never meant to throw Nebula at her like that, she could see it on his face, he did not know the half of their relationship anyways-and stars knows she never, ever meant to throw what she did at him, she knows he struggles with the responsibility of leading, she knows he believes himself the weakest link in their team-that's why she threw it at him, because that is what would hurt the most, that is what would wound him deepest. It is what she has been taught to do, to exploit the opposing party's weakness.

It does not feel like victory. She just feels sick.

She sits there for a while, staring at the wall and trying to banish Peter's stricken face from her mind. She is unsuccessful-but she cannot bring herself to go to him, to apologize. She is much too proud, her mind rebelling at the idea of surrender, and she is much too frightened-she has ruined everything now, she knows that, but she cannot bear to hear Peter say it himself.

In the end, he resolves it for her. He gives a quiet knock, pushing her door open gently without waiting for an answer. She stares resolutely at the wall, bracing herself.

"Gamora," he finally says, his voice breaking slightly, and she turns. The same devastation plaguing her is written across his face, and her heart hurts. "I am so, so sorry. I screwed up-that was bad, that was really, really bad, I shouldn't have-I never meant to-I'm sorry."

His voice is sincere and there is the slightest shine to his eyes, and she feels a burn in her eyes that has _no right_ to bother her now.

"I know you're pissed, you have every right to be-" he is looking at her desperately now. "Just please, please, I know I'm a universal screw-up but I won't be for you, I can do better-"

"_Stars_, Peter," she finally breaks out, throwing her arms around him because she cannot bear to see that expression on his face anymore. "_I_ am the one who should apologize, I said such horrible things, I am deeply sorry- you are _not_ a screw-up, I am a cold-hearted failure-"

"_What_ are you _saying_?" Peter asks incredulously, open relief coloring his tone as well as he wraps his arms around her. "You're not a _failure_, and you're definitely not cold-hearted, geez-and anyways, what you said was in line, I was the one who started it-"

"No, it was out of line, I began it-"

"_I_ was out of line, and that's bullshit, I screwed it up-"

"Stop being ridiculous, I started it-"

"It was _definitely_ me-"

"Stop being stubborn, _I_ was at fault-"

"You're the stubborn one, and I-"

"Fine!" Gamora finally exclaims, throwing her hands up as she pulls away. "We were both at fault! We both went over the line! And we both started it over-over…over what again?" she asks, frowning.

"Uh, something about stealing, I think?" Peter says, scratching his head.

"A book." She says flatly, feeling exceedingly stupid.

"Oh," Peter says, looking equally shamed. "Yeah."

She buries her face in her hands. He laughs lightly and pulls her close.

"Well it could have been worse, I guess."

"I fail to see how," she mutters, raising her head and leaning against him. "But for what it is worth-you are a great leader. Believe that."

"Mmm-hmm," Peter says, unconvincingly, and Gamora sighs.

"I am serious, Peter, and you can do much more than dance, but even your dancing is beneficial-"

"And your sister wasn't your fault," he interrupts. "Believe that. There are plenty of people who don't wanna kill you, and those who do are messed up."

She shrugs, but his admittance makes her feel a bit better. They cannot erase the hurt, because those are hurts and fears that existed even before they got into this argument. But bringing them to the surface has an obvious effect, and, while painful, perhaps they can work on those now.

At any rate, she thinks, as they lean against each other in easy silence, the rest of the team will be relieved that they have not killed each other.

* * *

The cockpit at one am has become their place-it is _theirs_, now, and no night goes by without them meeting there to talk for hours. Peter takes the main pilot's chair, claiming the seat has conformed to his butt-Gamora argues that the copilot's seat, hers, cannot conform to her butt because Rocket steals it during the day. They get into a lengthy argument over whether Rocket's butt has enough weight to replace hers and it ends, predictably, with an inappropriate comment from Peter and a smack from Gamora. But it is all in jest, she knows now-Peter merely enjoys working her up.

She finds she understands a lot of things about him now. He flirts obnoxiously because he finds her reaction amusing, he pokes fun at the others because playful teasing is for equals. He sings because his mother sung, and singing has never failed him, he dances because his mother used to, and when the cancer took her strength he danced for her. He wears his dazzling confidence because he cannot fail this team, he cannot be afraid, he cannot fail where they are concerned.

He has reached his own understanding of her-he does not mention Nebula, he is prepared for her to lash out with knives when she is surprised. He allows her to use up most of the hot water supply because he knows she is unused to such luxury, he makes sure there is always light somewhere in the Milano, because he knows she remembers the darkness of Thanos' realm. There is a pleasant familiarity between them now, an understanding of each other.

So when he tells her one night, as they lounge in the cockpit, hands loosely intertwined as they stare at the stars, that his mother would have loved her, she knows she is receiving the greatest compliment there is.


End file.
